On D Tus, Ancient and Modern

On dÿtus, ancient and modern Robert Blust On datus, ancient and modern University of Hawai‘i Most entries in the 877-page Maranao dictionary (McKaughan & Macaraya 1967) occupy a single line, and some are glossed with a single word. One notable exception to this pattern is the entry dÿto?, which occupies eleven lines, and three more if larger collocations that contain this base are included: dÿto? ‘chieftain, leader, boss, lord, master, king, gentleman’ 1. Sekÿniÿnidÿto? ko mÿito? ÿ iNed. ‘He is the chieftain of the village.’ 2. Sekÿniÿnidÿto? omÿNÿ gomÿgÿlebek. ‘He is the leader of the laborers.’ 3. Sekÿniÿnidÿto? ko opisinÿ mi. ‘He is the boss in our office.’ 4. Sekÿniÿnidÿto? o bisÿiÿ?. ‘He is the master of the slave.’ 5. Sekÿniÿnidÿto? sÿÿloNÿn ÿ mÿori. ‘He is the king of * It is a special privilege for me to offer this paper to Howard McKaughan, who in many ways is the reason I became a linguist. During the 1960s I was a lowly private stationed at Schofield Barracks in Wahiawã, Hawai‘i. Like others in my position, I had eight hours a day to check a three-quarter-ton truck to make sure there was water in the radiator and air in the tires. When this ceased to be a challenge, I seized the first opportunity to enter a newly opened language school, where I was able to study Indonesian and visit the Republic of Indonesia near the end of the Sukarno period. From this point I knew that I wanted to do something with my newfound language skill, but I wasn’t sure what. Then one evening a fellow language schooler told me that a University of Hawai‘i professor was giving a lecture on base about linguistics. This sounded interesting, and I dropped by somewhere in the middle. There at the front of the room was a large, imposing, and energetic speaker. It was Howard McKaughan, aged forty-three. He told us how important linguistics was, how difficult it could be, and how much still needed to be done. After the talk I worked up the courage to approach him, and ask how I might study linguistics myself. He suggested that if I took a local discharge I should come and see him after my tour of duty was over. I nearly missed that chance, as my unit was mobilized for Vietnam less than a month before my discharge date. Since I had under ninety days of duty left, I stayed behind, but many of my friends went. Some never returned, and some are memorialized by name on a certain wall in Washington, DC. When I was free at last I enrolled at the University of Hawai‘i, and made an appointment to see Howard. He advised me on my study program, and one part of that conversation was especially salient: “Don’t try to do everything,” he said. Ever since then I have made a concerted effort not to do everything, although perhaps with only mixed success. Howard had founded the Department of Linguistics at the University of Hawai‘i, but became dean of the Graduate Division shortly after I was admitted to the program, and as a result I never had a chance to take a course from him. I did, however, purchase a copy of the McKaughan & Macaraya Maranao dictionary, which was published about the time of my arrival. Within three years I had worn it out, falling to pieces. When I mentioned this to Howard he was so pleased that he gave me a new copy, one that I still have today. One of my fellow students who studied Philippine languages referred to this dictionary as “the phone book”—a commentary on its great bulk and one-word definitions for many entries. In tribute to Howard, and what he did to change my life so many years ago, I want to dedicate this paper to one entry in that dictionary that departs from this stereotyped description. Loren Billings & Nelleke Goudswaard (eds.), Piakandatu ami Dr. Howard P. McKaughan, 36–51. Manila: Linguistic Society of the Philippines and SIL Philippines, 2010. ON DATUS, ANCIENT AND MODERN 37 the world to come.’ 6. Apiÿÿndÿ sekÿniÿnmÿtÿgÿo? nÿ dÿto? den. ‘Wherever he is he is a gentleman.’ dÿto? ÿÿdil ‘title of nobility’ dÿto? ÿ kÿbogÿtÿn ‘title of nobility’ dÿto? imÿm ‘title of religious leader’ One can conclude from this greater-than-average degree of attention that the word dÿto? describes an important notion in Maranao society. LeBar (1975:23), describing the Muslim populations of the southern Philippines as a whole, notes: Perhaps the most characteristic feature of Moro society, apart from religion, has been the so-called “dÿto system,” whereby all persons in a district considered themselves allied to a local dÿto (dÿtu), sultan, or similarly titled individual. Under this system the Moros were organized into numerous petty states or principalities, in a manner not unlike the early coastal Malay sultanates of Sumatra, Java, Borneo, and Celebes. Leadership was largely restricted to members of aristocratic family lines, whose claim to authority rested ultimately on Koranic scripture; actual power was a matter of individual charisma backed by the number and strength of one’s entourage. This definition suggests a strong association between the notion of the dÿtu and the adoption of Islam. However, there are reasons to believe that the dÿtu system, whatever its original character, existed long before Islam was introduced to the southern Philippines or other parts of insular Southeast Asia. Dempwolff (1938) posited “Uraustronesisch” *datu ‘Sippenhaupt’, hence ‘head of a kin group’.1 As evidence he cited Tagalog dÿtoÛ ? ‘high priest’ (Oberpriester), Toba Batak dÿtu ‘sorcerer, shaman’ (Zauberpriester), Javanese rÿtu ‘prince’ (Fürst), Malay dÿtuk ‘head of a kin group’ (Sippenhaupt), Fijian rÿtu ‘master, owner; Sir’ (Herr), and Samoan lÿtu ‘one in charge of construction’ (Baumeister). Despite problems to be noted below which force us to abandon the last two members of this cognate set, these forms show a considerably wider range of meanings than are associated with reflexes of *datu in the Muslim groups of the southern Philippines, and naturally raise questions about what this term might originally have meant, and what change paths it might have followed in producing the attested semantic diversity of its reflexes. Dempwolff’s tentative hypothesis was that the *datu was the head of a kin group, but the justification for this semantic inference is by no means clear from the supporting evidence he cites, as only Malay dÿtuk is given with a meaning at all close to that of the reconstructed form. The gloss that he gives for this term may have been inspired by a consideration of a wider range of evidence than he was able to incorporate in the Vergleichende Lautlehre, or it may simply have been an expedient subject to change, since he had not worked out a systematic account of early Austronesian (AN) kinship, or social organization. Yet, as will be shown, it comes close to what a more systematic examination of the evidence appears to justify. To pursue this question further, we need to identify reflexes of *datu in many more AN languages, and to collect the fullest possible information about the meaning of these terms. A natural way to do this is to follow the map, as it were, beginning in Taiwan, then proceeding southward through the Philippines from the Batanes Islands to the Sulu Archipelago, on to 1 Data in this paper preceded by an asterisk are reconstructed historical forms. Most transcriptions follow IPA notation. A notable exception is y for the palatal glide and j (sometimes dj)fora post-alveolar affricate. Occasionally letters are capitalized following the usage in the original source. 38 ROBERT BLUST Borneo and the rest of western Indonesia, and then eastward through Indonesia into the Pacific. In doing this, the first thing that strikes the investigator is the total absence of such terms in Taiwan. Since the Formosan aboriginal languages apparently have no reflexes of *datu, we must conclude that, so far as the available evidence permits us to infer, this word can be assigned only to Proto-Malayo-Polynesian (PMP), the hypothetical common ancestor of all non-Formosan AN languages, but not to PAN itself. Although the term turns up in the northern Philippines, it appears to occur only as a loanword, with reference to Muslim populations in the far south: Ilokano dÿtoÛ ‘Muslim ruler’ (Rubino 2000) Pangasinan dÿtuÛ ‘leader of a tribal group, chief’ (Benton 1971) Kapampangan dÿtuÛ ? ‘leader, rarely used except with reference to southern Philippines or to olden days’ (Forman 1971; not in Bergaño 1860) In the central Philippines the term is used in ways which more clearly suggest that it was applied to the local societies prior to the introduction of Christianity: Tagalog dÿtoÛ ? ‘high priest’ (Laktaw 1914); ‘tribal chief in pre-Christian days’ (Panganiban 1966) Bikol dÿtoÛ ? ‘(archaic) headman, chief; also referring to the rich and influential members of pre-Hispanic Bikol society’ (Mintz 2004) Aklanon dÿtuÛ ? ‘datu, ruler, king; rich, wealthy, powerful (through money)’ (Salas Reyes et al. 1969) Masbatenyo dÿtoÛ ? ‘(from Cebuano) chief, ruler’ (Wolfenden 2001) Cebuano dÿtuÛ ? ‘rich, wealthy; title of a chief, now said only to Muslim leaders’ (Wolff 1972) It is noteworthy that reflexes of *datu in the northern and central Philippines are confined almost exclusively to lowland populations; interior groups such as the Isnag, Itawis, Bontok, Kankanaey, Ifugao, or Hanunóo simply lack the word. This distribution implies two things. First, it suggests that the word in the central and northern Philippines is a loan. Second, it suggests that the word was associated with the spread of Islamic culture, a development that had begun to affect the central Philippines in pre-Hispanic times, but was effectively terminated outside Mindanao and Sulu when the Spanish began the Christianization of the lowland Philippines.

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